


Jailhouse Lovin'

by Unusual_Raccoon



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Arrow (TV 2012) Season 7, Cunnilingus, Established Relationship, F/M, Lauriver Valentines 2021, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Season 7 AU, Smut, laurivervalentines2021
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-16 13:34:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29454618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unusual_Raccoon/pseuds/Unusual_Raccoon
Summary: Laurel visits Oliver in prison coincidentally on Valentine's Day and things don't go exactly as planned.
Relationships: Earth-2 Laurel Lance/Oliver Queen
Comments: 6
Kudos: 8





	Jailhouse Lovin'

**Author's Note:**

> Just a spur of the moment Valentine's Day fic, hope you like it.

Laurel awaited the guard to allow her inside, the heels of her pumps clicking loudly against the hard coated concrete floor with each step. They knew exactly who she was there to see and as such were quick to accommodate her lest they end up receiving a tongue lashing.

Being led to the private conference room she had requested, Laurel turned a firm look to the guard at the empty metal table before her.

“Where’s my client?” She asked in a calculating, but easily decipherable displeased tone. The guard blanched, jaw tense as he reached for the radio that dangled from his belt. She remained unflinching and unyielding even as the guard spoke through the radio. It wasn’t until Laurel heard the approaching rattle of chains that she knew she had gotten her way.

Stepping into the conference room, she tugged on the hem of her skirt as she stepped over the cool metal bench to take a seat. She could feel the guard watching her as she took out a case file and a steno pad for notes. The rattle of chains grew louder then, and Laurel was pleased to see her client standing in the doorway. Oliver Queen…

The guards nearly let him stumble into the room, chains and all, before cowering under her livid stare.

“Off.” She ordered, her gritted teeth turning to a pleased smile as the two men fumbled to free Oliver of his binds. Laurel watched his large hands come up and discreetly soothe his chafed wrists. Oliver shuffled into the conference room, his gaze lingering on her as he joined her at the table.

“We’ll be right outside.” One of the guards informed them in a deep baritone. Laurel shook her head, they couldn’t have that. Oliver was being persecuted in Slabside by prisoners and guards alike, the only time he was safe was when he was with her. She wouldn’t jeopardize their trust and their case just because of some flimsy protocol.

“No you won’t.” Laurel said simply, not bothering to look up from the case file she was sorting through.

“Ma’am?” The guard said dumbfounded.

“No, you won’t be right outside, my client and I require privacy and confidentiality.” She explained, just barely bothering to grace the man with a steely look, not that it was entirely necessary; it was obvious to any onlookers that the guards in Slabside were terrified of upsetting her. Laurel could see the way the man tensed, clearly uncomfortable with her reasoning, but as far as she was concerned, it wasn’t a suggestion, it was an order.

“Unless you’d rather I take this up with higher ups? Officer Jensen, is it?” She asked with faux sweetness as she squinted at the nameplate pinned to his chest. Laurel could feel Oliver twitch in his seat beside her.

“No, Ma’am.” The guard, Jensen, said in a defeated tone.

“Good, then shoo, please.” Laurel said, the please was really only a courtesy, and not a very convincing one at that when she ordered him away with an irritated flick of her hand. She felt triumph as the guard gave a stiff bow of his head before closing the door to their conference room.

“Ma’am.” He said simply, keen on not bothering any more than he already had, those he glared daggers at Oliver as he left.

Laurel let out a sigh as they were finally alone, without thinking she reached across the table and took his face into her hands. She carefully inspected the healing yellowish bruises on his face. He didn’t look great, but at least better than he had been the last time she had seen him. She could feel Oliver melt into her touch, her thumbs dipping lower to worry the scruff of his beard.

“Is that guard going to be a problem?” She asked quietly, feeling Oliver smile and shake his head gently while she still held him.

“No. I think they’re more scared of you than they are of the warden.” He replied with a fond smirk, at least there was that, one less guard to harass the Green Arrow behind bars.

“Good.” Laurel said, reluctantly prying her hands from Oliver’s face, something they both didn’t seem to enjoy. Returning her attention to his case file, Laurel spread out all that she could on the table, shimmying up off her seat briefly to push some papers around.

Despite their pressing situation Laurel caught Oliver’s gaze elsewhere, what the hell was he looking at that could be more important than their case to suspend his sentence.

“Hey,” Laurel called gently, trying to get his attention, a snap of her fingers just barely pulled him from whatever he was drooling over. It didn’t really matter, it was probably just a coping mechanism or something. Maybe he was meditating.

“Alright, so, we’re getting closer to Diaz and I’m still trying to get Agent Watson to help us out with the trade she promised, but until then I need you to sit tight a little while longer. It’s a week or so, two at the most.” Laurel explained, she wasn’t really fond of the idea of Oliver being behind bars any longer than necessary, but there was only so much she could do, especially since his former ‘team’ weren’t pitching in.

“Is there anything else I might be able to present to an adjudicator, any misconduct in here that could prove a bias against you?” Laurel asked, moving to grab her steno pad and pen to jot down some notes. Then he just blinked at her owlishly, eyes wide as though he’d realized she had been talking to him.

“Ollie, what the hell?” Laurel hissed, playfully swatting him on the shoulder, smiling despite herself when she detected a grin beneath his beard.

“Sorry,” He mumbled sheepishly, sort of dipping his head down into his big hands in embarrassment.

“What are you looking at?” Laurel asked, dropping the notepad and pen to the table to peer curiously around the room. It wasn’t much, it could hardly be called a room, more like a little concrete box. There were no windows, benches and tables were made of a hard, reflective metal that was bolted to the floor, what was so interesting?

He mumbled something unintelligible into his hands, until Laurel pried one big hand away from that stupidly handsome face, trying not to think too hard on how lovely his hot palm felt against hers.

“What was that?” She asked, making out the dip of a dimple darkening his cheek, beneath the sandy blonde scruff of his beard. She folded one leg over the other, tugging briefly on her skirt as she scooted closer to him, surprised at the way his growing blush seemed to darken...it was her? That’s what he was looking at? Laurel peered down at her long, smooth legs, all toned and on display beneath the tasteful hem of her skirt. She hadn’t really thought about the outfit when she’d picked it out that morning, just threw it on before beginning the drive to Slabside. In hindsight, she supposed she could see why it was distracting. He hadn’t had anything but the company of his fist for over six months, and before then, well, he’d preferred her company quite a bit. 

Laurel felt a tingle of unabashed flattery rush through her, warmth blooming between her legs in response, she knew he had found her attractive before, there was no denying that, yet somehow this...this felt good too. Reaching for her phone where it resided in her purse, Laurel pressed the home button to check the time. They had wasted enough of it making goo-goo eyes at one another. Yet, as the screen lit up, once again, Oliver bristled by her side, sort of squirming in his seat.

“What?” She asked before placing the device down on the table.

“Nothing.” He replied quietly, only serving to rile her up more.

“Ollie.” Laurel persisted with a grin.

“It’s Valentine’s Day.” Oliver hummed with a growing smile. Laurel felt her breath hitch, because suddenly it felt like all of the stars had aligned. She had known it was Valentine’s Day, it was hard to miss with all the chocolates and hearts in every shop she had passed on her way out of town, yet still she had been too swept up in meeting her client to remember. 

Reaching over, Laurel grabbed her phone once more, clicking the home button to light up the screen, both she and Oliver peered at the date displayed beneath the time. February 14th...it was Valentine’s Day. A part of Laurel mourned the fact that on today of all days he was locked up in here with no one to spend the day with. He probably wasn’t feeling a whole lot of love lately behind bars.

“If I was-” He began before falling silent, only seeming to find his voice again when she nudged him with the point of her shoe beneath the table.

“If I was out...of this place, do you think we would’ve done something today?” Oliver asked, a hopeful glimmer in the normally somber blue of his eyes. Laurel felt warmth hum from her chest in a linear path down between her legs. Laurel shrugged, she’d like to believe they would’ve done something, she did, but Valentine’s Day for couples, for commitments, and they were neither of those things.

“I...maybe? What do you mean?” She asked, leaning forward against the bench, the scorching warmth between her legs nearly hissed when she made contact with the cold metal of the bench.

“Like would we have gone on a date or…” She cleared her throat before continuing, finding his eyes were glued to her, “Would we have just had sex?” She asked, feeling the warmth between her legs throb potently now. She supposed she wouldn’t have minded either outcome, the former would’ve been less likely to happen, the latter was something of tradition for them. They’d found time between her time with Prometheus to go at it without remorse, and even when she’d been allied with Cayden James and then Ricardo Diaz after that, they always made time for each other, regardless of the circumstances.

Then Oliver was staring at her with an unrestrained hunger in his gaze, his adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed.

“Get on the table.” He said with a growl.

Laurel stared at him with wide eyes, was he serious? By the unflinching want in his gaze she knew that he was.

“I can’t make you dinner, right now, or take you on a nice date, but who cares, we would’ve skipped to dessert anyway… Dinah. Get. On. the. Table.” 

Laurel felt her heart leap in her chest as she scrambled up onto the table, wincing at the contrast in temperature from her skin to the cold metal. She tried to smother her excited squeal as Oliver yanked her toward him. She half expected him to rise up from his seat and drop those ugly Slabside gray pants and let her have it...but he didn’t. He urged up the material of her skirt up around her hips, parting her thighs to reveal what he sought between them.

Laurel hissed a moan at the feeling of his bare palms on her thighs, the searing contact of his skin on hers was electrifying. She could shamelessly admit that she had been aching for him too, fitfully finding release night after night, when her loneliness descended, with the company of her vibrator or her fingers with nothing but the thought of him on her mind.

Oliver drew near, a bass sort sound booming in his chest as she felt his fingers descend toward her sex. His mouth fitting over her knee, the coarse burn of his facial hair and warmth of his mouth making her twitch in delight. He remained there, tongue and teeth lathing her knee as his thumbs teasingly slipped beneath the delicate straps of the red lace g-string she had decided to wear. It had been another chance decision that morning, red had never been her color, but a part of her loved the idea of secretly wearing something nice for him, on today of all days - red certainly seemed fitting.

“Fuck, Ollie.” Laurel hissed between her teeth bucking into the welcoming heat of his mouth. Her fingers rasping over the buzzed hairs on his head, feeling the warmth of the shorn hairs tingled like velvet beneath her touch. He growled against her skin, sending shocks of want vibrating through her. The sound humming straight into her core, setting her whole being ablaze. 

His mouth closed in on her, warm lips dragging along the sensitive flesh of her thigh, closer and closer until she could feel the heat of his breath waft along the growing dampness between her legs. Laurel jerked against the overwhelming brush of his fingers, slow and appreciative over the damp red lace of her thong. Oliver purred a pleased sound, gathering the scant fabric between his large fingers. The ravenous gleam in his eye grew all the more starved as he gently guided the fabric aside to expose her drooling sex.

Her hips bucked on their own accord, a gasp ripping from her as Oliver admired her, likely drinking in the sight, savoring it to think fondly of during long, lonely nights in his cell. Something about the perverse thought only made Laurel more laden with desire. The callused pad of his thumb stroked tenderly over the pierced hood of her clit. The piercing was nothing new, yet Oliver stared wondrously at the little jewel adorning her jewel. Laurel shimmied closer, shaking at the teasing warmth of his mouth, the heels of her pumps sounding scratchy and unpleasant against the metal of her bench.

Her palm remained stroking lovingly over his hair, her lips curling into a smile at the low staticky rumble of his breathing as he leaned happily into the caress of her fingers. It seemed to be an eternity that elapsed in the moment he admired the slippery bare sex before him, raw flesh awaiting his hungry lips and tongue.

Then he struck with all the speed of a viper, lips and tongue lashing at her flesh. A moan left her lips, the first taste of her on his lips seemed to send him just as wild as it did her. Laurel arched off the table, dripping cunt pushed against his mouth desperately. Another choked cry left her as he growled a grateful sound straight into her body, illuminating her from the inside out.

His lips curled around the bud between her legs, latching and sucking gently, her teeth digging into her curled fist as she howled another sound when his tongue prodded endlessly at her clit. Laurel let her head fall back, her fingers clutching his head between her thighs as he ravenously consumed her.

Oliver growled hungrily, sucking and kissing the flesh as he sank lower. Laurel whimpered, the coarse burn of his beard only making her ache all the more. She sank back against the table, allowing herself to be molded as he saw fit, usually she’d put up more of a fight, but Laurel was too starved for him - she’d gone too long without this to bother pretending she could live without it, without him.

Her long blonde hair fanned out against the table as he feasted on her aching cunt, wet and dripping for him, just for him. Oliver’s clever tongue maneuvered between her silken folds, nose nudging at the little piece of metal adorning her clit that he was so fond of. Laurel arched off of her table, thrashing and insatiable as Oliver proceeded to fuck her with his tongue, saliva and her liquid arousal saturating the harsh burn of his beard.

She squirmed in torment and delight as she ground against the blessed plunge of his tongue again and again. Her legs were over his shoulders, his head locked between his legs, a prison of his own making.

Laurel keened a broken sound as he withdrew his tongue from her, her wetness and his spit connecting them, sticking to his chin and cheeks. She mourned the loss of his tongue, angling herself, presenting her soaked sex once more. He returned his attention to her clit, suckling and licking hungrily. It felt divine. It seemed almost too cruel to have to leave after their meeting was done, how was she supposed to go to bed alone on tonight of all nights, on fucking Valentine’s Day, without this, without him.

“Oh, fuck!” She cried, terrified the walls, hell even the whole prison, might crumble around them as she tried to smother the sound with her hand. Laurel went still, eyes disappearing beneath her eyelids as she felt victim to a potent orgasm that no vibrator or clever crook of her fingers could ever bring. She trembled, sweat clinging beneath her blouse and blazer, sticking uncomfortably as Oliver continued to lap at her sex. It felt like he was trying to suck all the water from a well. Damn, that was incredible.

Laurel felt drowsy, her mind blank and her body heavy against the table. A lazy smile pulled at her lips when she felt his shadow cross over her, the imposing weight of him settling atop her as he took her face in his hands.

She purred a happy sound when she greeted his lips, lips wet with the taste of herself, with a kiss.

“Mmm, that was…” Laurel trailed off, her voice husky and pleased. She twitched, her sex throbbing as Oliver rumbled a laugh against her throat.

“Worth the wait?” He asked with a devilish gleam in those blue eyes.

“Always.” Laurel supplied instantly. Her fingers reached up to stroke the wet hair of his beard, soaked with her release. He leaned contentedly into her touch, the thought of him carrying the scent of her so potently on his face made her ache with want.

Sitting up her vision swam with stars and her legs tingled with pins and needles as Laurel inched toward the edge of the table. Her palm descended beneath the waistband of his pants, feeling the impossibly large swell of his cock in her palm. It definitely must’ve been bigger than she remembered, that or he was incredibly aroused; probably both. She felt the thick appendage, hot and plump with blood practically leapt into her welcoming palm when there was a sharp rap at the door.

“Time’s up inmate!” One of the guards called, banging against the door once more. Laurel hissed in shock pulling her hand from his pants regretfully before sinking from the table to her feet. She wobbled a bit, feeling her legs nearly give out beneath her. 

Fixing her underwear and tugging down her skirt, Laurel tried to smooth out the creases in the fabric. Snatching her cellphone from the table, she winced at the time, they’d wasted it all...on this. Casting a glance at Oliver, for the first time since she’d started visiting him in prison, he didn’t look so dreadfully sad, if anything he looked smug; quite pleased with himself as Laurel stumbled to gather the papers she had previously spread across the table.

Laurel cleared her throat as the door to the conference room swung open, revealing a pair of guards and the cuffs Oliver had previously been wearing. She licked her lips trying to appear anything but guilty.

“Well, that’s as much progress as we can make for today,” She said, hoping she sounded professional, and not winded and horny like she was. Laurel tried to hide her smile as Oliver ducked his head with a chuckle.

Gathering up her case file and other belongings, Laurel turned her shrewd gaze to the guards as they approached Oliver with his cuffs.

“My client will be returned to his cell, immediately.” She ordered firmly, watching with a wince as Oliver’s wrists and ankles were bound once more. Both guards gave an affirmative nod, if she found out anything happened to him, she’d have everyone's head, the prisoners, the guards, hell even the warden.

“Well, Mr. Queen,” Laurel began trying not to get too distracted by the sheen of wetness clinging to Oliver’s lower lip, “I’ll be seeing you again next week to update you on our findings.”

He gave a mute nod, barely moving when one guard tried to jerk his arm to pull him from the room. The guard nearly fell dead when he was pinned beneath Laurel’s fierce gaze.

“Until then,” She said, not entirely able to fight the ruddy blush burning on her cheeks, “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

Laurel couldn’t help but savor the image of his ensuing smile in her mind, even as Oliver was shuffled off to his cell and she was eventually escorted out of the building, and even as she climbed into her bed that night. Valentine’s Day had never been a holiday of great importance to her, yet as she crooked her fingers between her legs, the thought of that clever tongue and coarse beard still vibrant in her mind, Laurel couldn’t help but look forward to next year’s celebration.

  
  
  



End file.
